


Backstage

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Backstage, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Inline with canon, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:23:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3296915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Freed can hear his voice cracking high on the words, jumping out of range until his throat gives out under the desperation in the tone. It’s not worth trying to control himself; his heart is pounding too hard for restraint, panic at the possibility of getting caught crashing into the adrenaline shocking through him as Laxus’s fingers slide past the edge of his pants." Laxus is reckless and Freed gives in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backstage

“This is really risky, Laxus.”

Freed can hear his voice cracking high on the words, jumping out of range until his throat gives out under the desperation in the tone. It’s not worth trying to control himself; his heart is pounding too hard for restraint, panic at the possibility of getting caught crashing into the adrenaline shocking through him as Laxus’s fingers slide past the edge of his pants.

“Nah,” Laxus says, his mouth so close to Freed’s ear that the other can hear the faint purr of amusement under the one word. He’s leaning in close, pinning Freed against the shadows of the wall until Freed can almost convince himself that they are truly hidden. “Just lemme know if someone comes.”

“Laxus,” Freed says, doing his best to put responsible restraint into his tone because he can’t convince himself to pull away, can’t unwind his fingers from where they’ve settled warm at the back of the blond’s neck. “By the time I see anyone they’ll have seen everything anyway.”

“Whatever.” Laxus pushes his hand down farther, drags his fingers over superheated skin so Freed’s knees go weak and he has to lean hard against the wall behind his shoulders. “No one’ll come.”

“You don’t know that,” Freed tries to point out. It’s a ridiculous claim -- he can hear the cheers from the audience, screaming enthusiasm for one of the other matchups in the Grand Magic Games, but just because they are distracted right now doesn’t mean someone won’t come looking for them, looking for  _Laxus_  as one of the participants. “They might be looking for you right --” His sentence cuts off as Laxus tightens his grip and jerks up quick and hard, and in the first shattering wave of heat Freed loses his grasp on why he’s protesting at all. He lets his breath out in a rush of air, the sound hissing audible with how hard and hot the air escapes his throat.

“It’s fine,” Laxus says, and Freed is starting to agree, can’t hold onto why he wanted to stop with the blond’s hand tight and dragging over him. “You don’t need long.”

Freed is aware distantly that he probably should be embarrassed about this. He has no endurance with Laxus, never has even when it was just his imagination offering the other to him instead of solid reality. But there’s no judgment in Laxus’s tone any more than there is noticeable pleasure; there’s just flat honesty, almost harsh in how direct it is. It turns Freed’s blood to steam, burns off whatever reasons to resist he may have had so he gives up on watching the lit end of the hallway entirely. It’s easier to turn in towards Laxus, to press his forehead to the blond’s shoulder and curl in against the pressure of the other’s hand in complete capitulation. There’s a laugh against his hair, a burst of amusement rough and sincere, and Laxus leans in closer, presses his hips sharply against Freed’s and catches his mouth at the side of Freed’s forehead. His mouth is hot, his lips damp where they stick to Freed’s skin, and Freed shifts his hand, clings to the blond’s neck and lets Laxus take his weight so he can let the strain in his knees go slack.

Someone could come around the corner at any moment, Freed knows. They ought to stop, or at least move somewhere less exposed. But Laxus pinned Freed back into the shadows before he had even said anything, and his hands are hot and sure against Freed’s body, and Freed can’t manage anything but the most token resistance. His heart is pounding in his chest, his breathing coming too-fast in his throat, and it’s only absolute awareness of the need for silence that keeps his gasps restrained to something below the range of a moan. Laxus isn’t slowing his movement, is showing no sign at all of hesitation even when Freed chokes back a whimper as his legs start to shake. His pulse is fluttering in his throat, every muscle in his body is drawing taut in expectation, and he has to speak  _now_.

“Laxus.” There’s no shift in the blond’s motions, no pause in the glide of his hand, but his mouth drags against Freed’s skin, close enough to indication that he’s listening. “Laxus, stop, we can’t.”

“I told you we’re fine,” Laxus starts, and Freed talks over him, fast and desperate because he can’t push off the edge of heat coming for him.

“No, that’s not--” Laxus’s fingers catch against the head of his cock, the motion slipping against slick pre-come, and Freed shudders and almost falls. “ _Ah_. That’s not it, Laxus, I can’t make a mess of my clothes.” His body is trembling, he can’t stand unassisted, and every part of him is begging to worry about this later but Freed can see the regret of that coming for him if he lets it play out. “I have to go back out, I can’t--”

“You’re being stupid,” Laxus says evenly against his hair, and he’s moving, the support of his shoulders falling away and leaving Freed so unsteady for a moment he doesn’t realize Laxus is dropping to a knee. “That’s easy to fix,” and he’s pulling at Freed’s clothes, letting his hold on the other’s length go so he can drag them aside, and Freed reaches out to grab desperately at the short gold of the other’s hair as Laxus’s mouth slides down over him. It’s the only way he can hold himself to reality as everything else vanishes to heat; for a moment he can’t see, can’t breathe, can’t even hear for the pound of blood in his ears and the heat thudding in his veins. But the soft of gold strands against his palm remains, holds him against the wave of pleasure that crashes out into his veins and shudders through his body, and when he gasps himself back into his self Laxus is only just pulling away to drag a hand across his mouth. His lips are damp, his eyes silver-black in the shadows when he looks up, and as he stands Freed’s fingers fall from his hair to his shoulders. Freed falls back against the wall and Laxus leans in to kiss him, quick and bitter with the lingering salt on his tongue. There’s the slick of his tongue against Freed’s, forceful with certainty, and Freed isn’t thinking of the risk anymore. His limbs are heavy and warmed over, but his hands are shaking when he reaches for the front of Laxus’s jeans, don’t steady until Laxus growls appreciation against his mouth and rocks himself hard against the other’s touch.

Freed knows they should move. It would make sense to invert their positions, or to move farther down the hallway so they are somewhat more disguised by the deeper shadows where the illumination doesn’t reach. But he can’t convince himself to pull away, his fingers are dragging of their own accord to unfasten the front of Laxus’s jeans, and the blond doesn’t even have to reach for his shoulder for Freed to let his weight fall in over his knees. He can still hear the shouts from the arena, echoing down the hall until the separate voices become a background of white noise to the steady weight of Laxus’s breathing over Freed’s head, and then fingers brush his hair back from his face, clear his features for the dim illumination of the light from the hallway, and Freed gets Laxus’s jeans open, pushes his clothes out of the way, and leans in to take the other’s cock back into his mouth.

Freed is still shaking faintly, trembling with the lingering effects of pleasure until he can’t steady his motion, but he doesn’t need to be steady for this. This is easy, years of futile desire still making this reciprocation nearly unbelievable, and he forgets all about the danger of their position as soon as he has the heat of Laxus’s length against his tongue. He shuts his eyes, lets all his attention center in on the slick friction over his mouth, and there’s a groan over him, the sound of approval before Laxus reaches out to brace his free hand against the wall over Freed’s head. The movement casts Freed into his shadow, offers some cover if either of them were at all concerned about getting caught anymore. There is still faint noise from the stadium, echoing against the hum of distraction in Freed’s ears, and his heart is pounding fast as if he’s experiencing all the adrenaline of the arena itself, excitement at being under the eyes of the only audience he has ever cared about.

Freed sets a steady rhythm, falling into sync with the urging of Laxus’s hand against his hair without thinking about it at all. Time fits itself to the pace of Laxus’s breathing, pushes aside the pressure at Freed’s knees and the ache as he opens his mouth wider to come in farther. His fingers are still curled into the other’s jeans, tight like he’s holding himself in place by the point of contact, and Laxus’s fingers are twisting into his hair, dragging tangles into the smooth locks that Freed can’t manage to care about right now. He has too much to focus on, the heat against his tongue and the bitter slick against his tongue, and Laxus is purring, humming on every exhale like he’s forgotten how to be quiet. He’s leaning in closer, too, pushing Freed back against the wall by the angle of his hips; then his breath catches, the heat at Freed’s lips flashes to a burn for a moment, and Laxus groans faintly over him as he comes into Freed’s mouth. Freed swallows the salty burn, feels it catch bitter at the back of his throat, and then he eases back, licking Laxus clean as he draws back and away. Laxus sighs satisfaction over Freed’s head, straightens to pull his jeans back into order, and by the time Freed has gotten back to his feet the blond is entirely composed again.

Freed knows he should move away. They have managed to not get caught, in spite of the recklessness of the idea in the first place, and lingering is only pressing the excellent luck they have had so far. But Laxus is reaching for his shoulder, brushing the weight of his tangled hair back, and Freed doesn’t move, stays as still as if he’s become a statue under Laxus’s touch. Laxus leans in closer, bracing Freed with the weight of his palm against the other’s neck, and when he leans in closer Freed shuts his eyes and lets Laxus kiss him, slow and hot against his mouth. Freed’s attention fades out, gives way to the dominance of pleasure, and by the time Laxus pulls away he’s shaky enough to need to lean hard on the wall behind him again.

Laxus’s gaze trails over his face, his fingers sliding up against Freed’s skin in idle contact. “Cheer for me, Freed,” he says, careful on the words as if Freed truly needs the command.

Freed nods, knocked wordless by Laxus’s touch. Laxus gazes at his face for another moment; then he draws his hand away, steps back, and moves back out to the light of the hallway before he goes to prepare for his own turn in the arena.

It takes Freed several minutes to work his hair back into appropriate smoothness, and another few before he trusts his feet to take his weight. He’s not entirely sure he’s convincingly unruffled by the time he makes it out to rejoin the rest of the audience to the games, but with the rush of satisfaction under his skin, he’s not sure he cares.


End file.
